


Artistic License

by IgnobleBard



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Edible Body Paint, Light Bondage, M/M, Sex Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-21
Updated: 2005-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/pseuds/IgnobleBard
Summary: Legolas is a work of art.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 7





	Artistic License

Early morning sunlight streamed through the high castle window, dust motes swirling and eddying in the small currents of air within them, creating a stark design upon the supine Elf's white skin. A shadow fell across face and neck, while bright white illuminated a pale shoulder, petal pink nipples, and dimpled navel. A dark band struck across bare loins and thighs, as lower legs and perfectly formed feet all but glowed in the light that warmed them.

Blinking to focus eyes long distant in reverie, Legolas squirmed a little, wiggling his fingers and toes, feeling the silk of the sheets ripple beneath him. He started to sit up and frowned to discover that his arms, lying with his hands at the headboard, would not cooperate. Attempting to move them brought him the reason, his wrists were bound. Trying to move his feet brought the same response, his spread ankles were also bound. His mind snapped into awareness at once and he raised his head to see the man, wearing a scarlet and gold silk robe which was open in front, standing next to the bed smiling at him with roguish glee.

He gave the man a long-suffering look. "Another game?" he asked with a weary sigh. "Must I be bound for this?" But inwardly, Legolas felt his stomach flutter with an apprehensive expectation. The man was fond of waking him with such games, knowing Legolas only ever slept truly deeply when he was in his lover's bedchamber.

The man's smile widened. "Oh yes, this is one that will require a certain stillness on your part and you have a tendency to be a bit too... feisty at times."

Legolas would never agree to this statement, though both knew it to be true. The Elf liked to be in command, teasing his lover to distraction, reveling in the feeling of his superior physical prowess and stamina against the mortal's modest endurance. The man's morning games, usually involving bondage and much teasing, were the only way for him to even the odds, and though Legolas was rather fond of them, not knowing when they were coming or what they might involve always gave him pause.

He let his head fall back and stared at the canopy of blue, embroidered with silver stars, over his head. "Will you be using me as a table for your breakfast then? Or perhaps you wish to see me writhe, my skin inflamed by stinging nettles, as you suckle me repeatedly to the border of release, ever denying me entry to the realm."

The man laughed at this, his deep voice husky with its morning throatiness. "My but you are poetic for it to be so early. Elves can not help that, though, can they? No, I too am feeling a bit creative this morning and I've decided to make your body my masterpiece."

Legolas raised his head again, looking at him questioningly. The man moved out of his line of sight, returning a moment later with a small, oddly shaped board which held tiny pots of colored paste. The man held the board in one hand; his thumb protruding from a hole cut conveniently into it, and brandished a set of five brushes in the other, from one the width of the man's thumb to one that appeared to contain only a single hair. Legolas, knowing what such light implements would do to his ticklish flesh, began to tremble a bit and his eyes took on a look of near pleading.

"You cannot mean to... I mean you would not... Do you intend to paint upon my body? I have a council to attend this afternoon, as do you. I-I cannot go to it looking like a Drúedain fresh from some arcane ritual." Legolas babbled, trying to sound indignant but achieving instead a rather shrill alarm.

The man chuckled, moving closer, his eyes locked onto the helpless Elf. "Do not worry, they are not permanent. In fact the work I create will be rather fleeting I fear, as is the nature of the arts of Men."

He knelt on the bed beside Legolas and the Elf saw the man's arousal peek playfully through the rich fabric of the robe he wore as though interested to witness the proceedings. Legolas groaned and looked back up into the man's grey-blue eyes.

The man carefully placed his paints and brushes on the table next to the bed and leaned over to kiss his nervous lover. Legolas parted his lips, allowing the man to be the one to claim his mouth with a gentle sweep of his tongue and he sucked it slowly in acquiescence, giving himself over to his lover's control. The man's hand stroked gently but firmly down his body and Legolas let himself rouse to the touch, clinging to the feeling of warmth and pressure, the last he thought to feel until his ordeal was ended.

The man finally pulled away, Legolas following his head upward until his restraints prevented him from going further and their lips moistly detached. Picking up his tools, the man dipped a small stranded brush into the pot of black and ran the brush beneath one of the Elf's sparkling blue eyes. He repeated the pattern under the other, giving the Elf an exotic look, almost like an Elven Haradrim. Legolas blinked at the unusual feeling, watching with curiosity as the man then chose a slightly wider brush and dipped the edge of it delicately into the pot of red. He placed the red on the board and chose a bit of white, mixing the colors into a rose-pale pink and then daubing it lightly on the Elf's already burning cheeks.

"You would paint me as a woman?" Legolas asked with a combination of amusement and incredulity.

The man chuckled. "Only enhancing your already striking beauty, my love." he teased.

Legolas shook his head at the man's foolishness. "And what is this paint you use that smells of berries?"

"Why berries of course," the man quipped, "with a few other ingredients of my own concoction."

The smell was somehow soothing and exciting at the same time, with its implication of pleasures to come. Legolas watched again as the man choose his colors with care, mixing a dark green and then painting his way down the midline of Legolas' body with a broad, sure stroke. The Elf's chest surged with the sharp intake of his breath as the cool paint and fine, soft hairs of the brush traveled downward, butterfly light against his smooth skin. When the man reached Legolas' navel, he gave his wrist a twist, making a curving flourish with the brush within the indentation and the Elf burst into a peal of unrestrained laughter, as musical to the man's ears as a lively song played upon a flute.

Lifting the brush, the man looked again into the Elf's eyes, relishing the torment he saw there as his laughter trailed away. Taking up a smaller brush, he again chose red to accentuate the dark pink nipples, drawn into hard little points upon Legolas' rapidly rising and falling chest. With the lightest of touches, the man danced the brush upon Legolas' nipple and again Legolas laughed uncontrollably, the laughter continuing and taking on an edge of desperation as the man colored both nipples and a surrounding one inch diameter a vivid red. 

Stopping only to change brushes, or choose another color, the man continued to paint upon his living canvas, reveling in his control as Legolas, his laughter becoming ever more hysterical, fought to free himself from his bonds, nearly bending the heavy, blue painted iron headboard with his effort to escape the maddeningly light touches. With slow, deliberate movements, the man drew the brushes down and across his ribs, his sides, his tender, hairless underarms as Legolas' helpless screams of laughter echoed off the chamber walls. Every shriek was accompanied by the throbbing slap of his bouncing hardness against his painted belly, sending droplets of paint and pre-release splattering his body, the sheet, and the man's open robe. He did not know how much longer he could hold on without crying out his submission, before begging brokenly for the man to halt and simply take him - take him hard.

Then the man did stop and Legolas lay panting and shuddering before his lover, needing the respite as he had not needed such in many hundreds of years. His member pulsed with burning need, the paint was beginning to become sticky upon his body, and his throat was dry from screaming. He looked at the man gratefully, the lines under his eyes smudged into dark streaks from the tears that ran down his cheeks. The man stroked his hair soothingly and stood up to remove his robe, his own hardness shiny and taut against his pale abdomen. Seeing the man's need, feeling his own body suffused with the heat of his torment, Legolas felt almost that he could come without even a touch, so close to rapture was he.

But he found he could not will his member to cooperate and the man seemed disinclined to end his torture as he again picked up his paints, settling himself on his knees between Legolas' spread legs.

The Elf looked at him, a moan of terror rising from his throat as the man chose another medium sized brush and with the utmost care, so as not to bring his lover to completion, began to decorate the waving column before him. Blue, red, yellow, black, all swirled in a kaleidoscope of blotches and stripes upon the Elf's hooded trickling member, his glistening drawn up orbs as the man continued his work with the deft touch born of an intimate knowledge of his partner's responses. He knew just how far to go and just when to back off to keep Legolas hovering on the edge of release, and a part of the Elf's mind cursed that knowledge, even as his body sang to the sensation of being so wholly alive, so thoroughly, mortally, in the moment.

Finally, the man stopped and squeezed Legolas' thigh affectionately, watching as the Elf's eyes slowly focused their blue fire upon him. Momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the gaze, the man mentally shook himself and then smiled enigmatically at his captive lover.

"You are beautiful, my love, a true work of art."

Legolas, barely trusting himself to speak, rasped out, "Do you propose to leave me in need while you sit there on the verge of release yourself with that silly grin on your face?"

The man laughed again. It always amazed him that so ancient and powerful a being could be reduced to such an emotional edge by mere bodily sensation. He gave Legolas an impish look, his eyes holding a gimlet gleam.

"Ah, but you have experienced only half of the wonder of these paints." he said. "The best thing about them is the ease of clean up."

He leaned forward, his arms coming to rest on either side of the Elf's body and, lowering his head, licked upward from Legolas' navel to his neck, his tongue lovingly traveling the length of the arousal-warmed, berry-flavored skin. Legolas arched up against the rough wetness that traced its way up his body, quivering in delight that the torture of the mild, ticklish touches seemed to be at an end.

The man ended with a kiss, this time allowing Legolas to slip his tongue within and the Elf savored the sweetness of the paints along with the faint trace of the man's own unique taste upon his lips. Firm licks, light nips, and gentle suction followed as the man determinedly removed the gaudy, abstract design from Legolas' writhing, breathless body. At last the only part left untouched was the Elf's marble hard desire, the colors running with the sticky fluid that incessantly dribbled from the tip. 

The man spent several painfully long moments easing his way around the shaft as Legolas tried, by subtly moving his hips, to interest him in the sweet treat so close to his mouth. Legolas could not believe his Elf eyes when the man did not take the bait but instead knelt up and regarded his work. There were still a few places where the darker colors could be faintly seen upon the pale flesh but otherwise the Elf was again a blank canvas waiting for the next work of art to be wrought upon him, save for one last thing.

Taking up the smallest, finest brush, the man dipped it into the blue. Legolas shook his head weakly and bit his lip hard as the man began to trace the slit at the head of his painted, twitching penis. The touch of the single hair around and into an area so sensitive, so alive with need, was the final stroke. Legolas' body convulsed wildly, even as he began to both beg and curse his tormentor in three Elvish languages and a smattering of Westron.

The Elf's body quaked and heaved as his seed flew from him in four undirected ribbons of white, covering the canvas of his torso with a pearly over glaze. The man sat back on his heels, his eyes filled with lust, and stroked himself as he watched the Elf come, shortly adding his own essence to the new design that covered his lover's spent body. 

He collapsed forward onto Legolas, tugging the bindings of the Elf's wrists loose. Legolas moved his arms down at once to embrace his lover, pinning the man's arms to his sides as he took his mouth possessively. The man's eyes widened at the sudden role reversal and he struggled without success as the Elf held him tightly, setting him back up on his knees and keeping his grip tight as he snaked his fingers down to undo the bindings at his ankles.

Legolas looked into the man's eyes with his ancient, foreign gaze, the smudged darkness lingering beneath the piercing blue of his eyes giving his face the aspect of an avenging force sent from the Valar.

"M-my love," the man stammered, "what are you doing?"

The Elf did not speak but only flipped the man onto his back and bound him quickly and inescapably to the headboard as he had been bound. The man regarded him nervously as the Elf leaned down to bind his feet. But his heart nearly stopped when Legolas moved away and returned with a razor sharp dagger, the one he carried in his belt.

"Forgive me, Legolas." the man begged. "Perhaps I went a bit far but I thought..."

Legolas silenced him with a deep kiss that let the man know he was in no danger from his Elven love. He then straddled the man's hips, growing hard again to see his tormentor now within his power, feeling the man's renewed arousal nudge between his buttocks. With a quick but careful touch he began to shave the hair from the man's chest. The man held his breath as the blade was upon him, gasping out when Legolas finally raised it to shake off the strands collected there, leaving his chest completely bare.

"You will use me for your canvas?" the man asked with a shaky breath. "But why must you remove my hair?"

"Just call it artistic license," Legolas smiled, reaching for the paint.


End file.
